


Come Fly With Me

by goodwineandcheese



Category: Monster
Genre: Gen, Lounge Singer AU, Lunge is a pianist, Yes Really, not really romantic but has lungeva leanings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodwineandcheese/pseuds/goodwineandcheese
Summary: It is the pianist whose music sets the mood, who carries the backbone of the melody for his singers. Yet all too often is it an easy thing to forget him, to watch the showmanship of the evocative and energetic singer who takes center stage. One wonders if the somber man and his lonely chord is ever truly heard it all.
Relationships: Eva Heinemann/Heinrich Lunge, Heinrich Lunge & Jan Suk
Kudos: 4





	Come Fly With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Star Trek Deep Space Nine (a huge reach to get to where I am, I know) and a 1930s lounge singer type character was introduced for this ep and I got inspired...tbh I've been meaning to write some sort of "Lunge is a pianist" AU for a while and this is where we ended up lol. There is one exchange between the characters which is really what inspired me that naturally made it into the fic itself. I'll say what it was at the very end.

“Man, you’re gifted with that thing; really outdid it for us tonight. You _seen_ the crowd? They were falling all over the place for us, man. Here’s to a real top tier performance.”

The familiar, friendly clap at Heinrich’s shoulder was accepted, but the enthusiasm wasn’t shared. When the crowd cleared and he retreated to the lounge, it was always the same. He might be the best pianist in the house, but he was a sideshow attraction. The real star was the lovely lady onstage, singing her heart out, or a gentleman like Jan - young, full of life, real star material. The guy had a gaily attitude about him, all cheer and warmth, offering his gratitude to the pianist. But in the end, his was the only complement paid to his sullen companion. 

Just as well. Heinrich was not a social man. He retreated to the quiet of the bar, sat by himself most nights. With the show over, most of the patrons had gone, back into the muggy air and flickering street lights to guide them home to their wives, steady or stumbling to the door. Those that were left mumbled amongst themselves, friends who preferred to keep the chatter going as long as they could. The bar would close in an hour or so regardless.

Not for the first time, Heinrich stared into a barely-touched bourbon and wondered what had happened to his soul. Jan had been correct about one thing: he had a gift for the piano. Even now, sat at a lonely side-table, he could tap out the accompaniment to any old song. He could pick one from his favourite records and tap out the keys without even having the black and whites in front of him. Pull it all from memory.

Problem wasn’t that. He just wasn’t _feeling it_ how he used to. 

He was as good as he needed to be as backing to the singers, but he was slipping. It just wasn’t clicking. Hard to say where or when it started, but he’d first really noticed it some weeks ago, how he just wasn’t quite so jazzed when he got up on that stage. Like he drank a slow poison and only now realized he was dying.

With a scowl, Heinrich downed his glass. He fished for his cash, leaving it on the table as he grabbed his coat and swept out into the night, still in search of that long lost fire in him. Another bar, another gig, and he still wasn’t any closer to getting back that spark.

The bite of a chilly night’s air did him some good. There was something about inhaling that smog, hearing all the sounds out there mixing like a chaotic urban orchestra, that was almost soothing. If he listened good and hard there was a rhythm, or a tune, something he could play to if he wanted. At least that made him feel a little at home. It wasn’t another song he could key off by heart, these sounds came and went and came back at the whims of the nighttime city folk and their automobiles roaring off in the distance and transforming into a symphony.

There was something else tonight, though. Something closer. Heinrich stopped to listen to the low, feminine drawl. It was a good voice; he could hear that through the obvious slurring of a drunken dame. And what could he say, he was curious; he followed the voice down the sleepy sidewalk, finally catching sight of the lady and her beloved bottle. She was barely on her feet, just holding that nearly-empty bottle as that voice tumbled out of her - not really words, just sounds, but even like this he could tell there was talent. It sounded raw, but it sounded _real._

Wasn’t long before some man in a long coat joined her and she put her arms around him, tripping just a little on her heels as she laughed her way into his broad chest. Heinrich turned away, kept going back to his flat. It had been an enchanting distraction, if only short-lived. Even so, that wasn’t a voice he’d forget. 

No, he wouldn’t forget. It wouldn’t let him. In the days following, Heinrich found himself haunted by it. First in those tired moments before he began dreaming, in the state somewhere between conscious and unconscious. It followed him onto the stage, coloured his playing. Something about that sultry tenor refused to leave him to peace, like the voice had its own mind. It was a teasing vixen. _I’m all you’ve been missing in your music,_ it sang. He’d found himself a real siren’s call, beckoning him into the city-streets after every performance, only to leave him hanging, waiting, listening for a melody that wasn’t there. Whatever magic had happened that night, Heinrich hadn’t heard that voice since.

Even so, it gave him something - a muse of sorts, calling out to him. He found he could reach out to that voice if he played back to it, each stroke of keys made in answer to that lonely song. Wasn’t quite the same as having a real soul exactly, but he felt more alive in front of a grand piano than he had in a long, long time.

“I gotta say, man, there’s just something about the way you been playing lately. Like you got a second wind. It’s great, you’re amazing, man...really working up a mood, you know.”

As ever it was Jan to offer praise to his accompaniment. The pair enjoyed their drinks from a sidelong table as another act took the stage - a little more somber and mature than the jaunty stuff Jan sang. A little more the way Heinrich felt. As much as he appreciated the blond’s company, he wasn’t fixing to play those lively up-beat tunes forever. He took a sip of his drink.

“You could say that. I’ve been feeling inspired lately.”

“Yeah? It shows.”

For the diva that he could be, Jan was more perceptive than Heinrich gave him credit for. He had to wonder who he was really fooling, if even that kid could tell he’d been losing heart. Jan offered up a smirk, and Heinrich already knew what was coming. He had a damn readable face and it wasn’t the first time the kid hit him with this one. The blond leaned forward with his drink in hand.

“Wouldn’t be you finally found yourself a _lady friend,_ would it? You spilling?”

“Nothing to spill. Quit dreaming.” 

Too brusque. Jan took it as being defensive. But, he was also smart enough to drop it; whatever he might be thinking didn’t matter, if he kept it to himself. He prodded a finger toward Heinrich, shaking his head, that silky gold mane of his dancing with the gesture.

“It’s like I say; to make it big, what you need is either a bad heartbreak or a sweet romance. That’s the stuff real music’s born from.”

That boy was too much a dreamer, but it worked for his schtick. He had a real charm to him and it carried in his voice, in his physicality, the way he moved onstage, how he interacted with his audience. Certainly nothing like Heinrich. He was in the back, locked in place at the keyboard, the unheard accompaniment whose absence would dull any performance, yet whose presence was never of note.

_“Ladies and gentlemen...hope you’re enjoying yourselves, it’s been a great night tonight. Now, I’d like to, ah, I’d like to introduce a special guest now, if you don’t mind. This beauty’s gonna sing for you tonight. Let’s all you fine folks give it up for the lovely miss Eva Heinemann.”_

Heinrich turned a glance on the stage, clapping in the polite but hollow way that was echoed through the audience. _Beauty_ was right, she certainly had an elegant look about her, in a stunning scarlet dress that hugged her frame and blond hair that fell at just the right length. Even Jan was making eyes, lovesick pup that he was.

“What a _knockout.”_ was all the kid could say. Heinrich decidedly ignored him. Not entirely intentionally, but because the wisps of a voice that came from the woman’s lips was none other than his distant long-lost siren.

He would never have recognized her as the woman slurring her words with the charisma of a feral cat; this dame was someone wholly else, graceful and pristine and barely human in the absoluteness of her perfection. Even so there was no mistaking it; that was the same voice. Unless she had a secret twin, this was the same woman he’d seen out in the smog that night.

Now that he could hear her without the drawl of alcohol, he found himself even more immersed in it, in the meaning of her tune. Not the words - she might very well be singing nonsense to him and he wouldn’t have known - but in the soul. The real essence of it when you took away the beat and the lyrics and all else that went with it. The soul of her music was coloured in a way that didn’t suit her look; it was mournful, even a little charged with anger in those bigger swells. She put on a good show of it, sure captivated her audience, but the place that music came from wasn’t a happy one.

Now he understood just why it was he’d gravitated toward her. 

There were whoops and cheers over the din of applause when she finished, and a few gents got lucky with a blow of a kiss their way, then she was gone. There was a void when she left the stage, and while the next act was just fine, Heinrich could still hear those macabre tones in a cool, lilting voice that was growing further and further away.

There was a whistle from his side, Jan taking a sip of his drink as he watched the brunette currently onstage. He said something, but Heinrich didn’t catch it, only realizing it was directed toward him when he felt a tap to his shoulder and saw those puppy-eyes looking right at him.

“You still there? I asked what you thought.”

Heinrich blinked, then took a glance toward the stage. It was an underwhelming, but satisfactory song and dance number. The lady had a good voice for her act, but it was a little too energetic to suit his mood.

“Well enough, I suppose.”

Jan stared him down hard, then smirked, glancing in the direction that the blonde woman had gone when she left. A devious little smile lit his features.

“So it _is_ love. Can I call ‘em or can I call ‘em?”

Jan went ignored once again. Heinrich said nothing at all as he stood, excusing himself from the table, leaving the young man to his lonesome, not that he seemed bothered by it. A vacant seat meant the potential to beckon a lady-friend. Heinrich had more to worry about, like the possibility of catching hold of his siren, just once.

Heinemann...miss Eva Heinemann. That was what the emcee had introduced her as. At least now he knew who he was looking for.

* * *

A few questions to the right people pointed him toward the lounge. Miss Heinemann had last been spotted heading toward the ladies’ dressing rooms. Ordinarily Heinrich would simply wait, but there was an unseen force which urged him forward, and he found himself standing there before he could very well stop himself.

It was irregular, but everything about this encounter was exactly that. And hell, with how long it took him to find her, letting this chance slip could mean waiting another month or more before he saw that face again. He rapped on the wood of the door, waiting quietly, half expecting that it wouldn’t open. But it did, and she was standing there, still wearing that sparkled red dress, a hairbrush in hand. It looked straighter now, no longer pronounced by the volume of waves she’d been wearing before. Heinrich never found himself in envy of the preparation ladies underwent to go on stage.

“Good evening.”

His voice was cautious. Her expression was moreso. No doubt she was accustomed to a fair few eager boys hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Heinrich cleared his throat, letting his hands fold behind his back.

“You have a very good voice.”

That coloured her expression a little brighter, approving even. She nodded, looking him up and down. Something seemed to click in those eyes. 

“And you have good hands.”

Heinrich opened his mouth as though intending to ask just what she meant, but she beat him to it, raising a hand to quiet him before he’d even gotten a word in.

“You played tonight. You and that sweet blond boy. He’s got a good voice. But there was something about that sullen pianist in the back that caught my eye.” She paused, then beckoned forward, stepping out of the doorway. “Well? Come in, then. I was about to have a glass of wine by myself. You’d make fine company.”

Heinrich paused for a moment. “This is the ladies’ dressing room.”

It earned him an eyeroll and a bemused smirk. “Yes, that it is. And you’ve been invited in, unless you’re not interested after all.”

A threat. If he didn’t answer now, the door would close.

“I’m interested.”

She led him inside, passing by an elaborate makeup station with an array of mirrors and an assortment of women's products he dared not guess the uses of. She sat him at a small sitting-table, then went to a small cupboard that seemed quite full of wines and produced two glasses, pouring each of them a drink. Heinrich couldn't take his eyes away. She seemed to notice, even enjoy it.

"You're quite talented. I've heard you many times. Have you been at it long?" 

Heinrich found himself surprised twice now. It wasn't in his nature to notice his audience, just as it wasn't theirs to notice him. But it seemed that somewhere on those nights, there had been at least one person to admire his music. Thinking back, he could recall many a blonde beauty in the audience; perhaps she had been among them, her talent yet unknown to him, not of interest to him. He sipped at his glass. She swallowed hers down quickly, pouring another.

"It's surprising that you’d notice me. That's not something that happens often." 

Eva hummed, swirling her glass with a delicate flick of her wrist. "It's the pianist who sets the mood. My singing doesn't mean much without that. And I can learn a lot about a man by how he plays." 

"The same could be said about you." Heinrich countered, earning an odd look and a chuckle from her. She downed the second glass, not quite as quickly as the first, but she was still going for more. He wondered how many evenings she spent this way. He recalled how many bottles were in that cabinet. 

"Could it?" Her voice was a laugh. Heinrich sensed a touch of derision. "I wonder at that." 

He set his glass down, watching as Eva filled it generously. The bottle was near empty. 

"I heard your voice once before. I'd hit a low point. I'd lost my touch, my music felt lacking. But hearing you was inspiring. I'd never heard a voice so raw. Even when it was slurred."

Both went silent, for a while. Eva looked at her glass, then downed it, standing to go for another bottle, then hesitating. She sat back down. Something about her felt different, reflective and self-aware.

"You say that you're never seen, or heard. That no one notices you. I imagine you'd care to have more recognition for your work." The question was posed as a statement. Heinrich took it to be rhetorical by the fact that she didn’t meet his gaze, and the way she seemed eager to continue. She did just that. “As someone who is noticed by _everyone,_ I almost wish I could have it your way. If only just for a day. Just one day would be fine.”

Heinrich raised a brow. This was unexpected, quite so.

“You dislike the attention.”

“No, no. I quite enjoy it, but…” She trailed off, raising a hand to rest under her chin as she thought, purple-blue eyes turning distant. “Let me put it one way. When you came to my door for a talk, the first thing you had to say was that I have a good voice.” She leaned forward, the edge of a smirk touching at her lips. “Would it surprise you to think you’re the first? To start with that, I mean.”

In fact, he was. Though, he didn’t speak on it. She continued, taking advantage of the silence. “It’s always... _you’re certainly a pretty thing. I saw you onstage and it was love at first sight._ That sort of thing. I like that, you know....to hear that I’m pretty. But it gets to be a bore when that’s all they can see. They don’t really hear me. Not really. When I sing, I’m putting my heart out there, but they don’t hear a damn thing.” Her eyes sharpened. Locked on Heinrich. 

“When I was singing, what did you hear?”

Heinrich took his time. Women...women were tough. This could be a trick. She could be asking about how she sounded to him - a pretty voice, impressive vocals, that sort of thing. But some part of him - the part that chased this siren - understood differently. He listened to that part.

“Frustration. Loneliness. Anger.”

The smile that split her lips indicated he answered correctly. She leaned back again, interlacing her fingers and resting her elbows on the table.

“That tune you played for the pretty-boy was energetic and upbeat. But underneath it I heard something else. Something lonely, like you said. Empty, unfulfilled. I think you feel a bit the same as me.”

“I do.” 

He sounded eager, too eager. But it was just as he’d hoped. He had felt something, when he first heard her sing. It seemed that she felt that same buzz, that same attraction when she first heard him play. He couldn’t ask for more than that.

“I think I didn’t realize, until I heard you sing. What it was that was holding me back, why I couldn’t feel the music I was playing. The reasons that I played were fading. I lost sight of them. It took hearing your voice to realize.”

“When I first heard you play, I felt less alone. Like there was someone else who understands.”

There was a glitter in her eye. Once again she was leaning in, one leg crossing over the other as she nodded at something she’d thought but not said. 

“Maybe it’s time we think about a partnership. You at the keys while I sing. No-” She lifted her chin, peering at him with an odd look, then nodded again. “You’ll sing, too. You’ll back me twice over.”

Heinrich stiffened, eyes narrowing for a moment. “Jan-”

“-can share, can he not?” She judged him with those sharp eyes, though it seemed in play. “Besides, your boy seems to be an act all his own.” Heinrich was not swayed.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, “but he’s also a friend.”

Eva’s expression faltered, but only momentarily. She sat straighter.

“Then perhaps it’s time I talk with this friend. I’m sure that we, the three of us, can reach a fair compromise.” That playful smirk was back at her again, fuller than before. “I’ll have you play for me. That’s a promise.” It was also a threat.

This time, Heinrich smirked right back. Truthfully he was glad of her persistence; he wouldn’t leave Jan, no, but the undeniable truth was that he wanted to share his talent with this woman. They were a pair in their ways; he could only dream to imagine what they might sound like together with a shared vision. 

He glanced then at his watch, huffed a small sigh, and straightened his jacket. He moved to stand.

“If it’s all the same, I’ll take my leave of you now. I fear what’s become of Jan in my time away.” He didn’t, though he imagined if the boy had drunk enough, he might well be making a fool of himself. Heinrich had made it as far as the door before he was stopped by a quick call of _“Wait-”_ which he heeded, and turned. Eva took a few seconds before responding, seemingly enjoying the very fact he’d stopped at all.

“Your name.” 

Heinrich turned back toward the door, the faintest smile at his lips.

“Heinrich Lunge.”

“Heinrich.” she said, in that almost sultry way. “Thank you. Goodnight, then.”

One last moment of quiet passed between them.

“And you, miss Eva Heinemann.”

* * *

Tuesdays were busy. They were always busy, had been for over a month; from six o-clock on, the tables were full and the waiting staff was on its toes. It was good business, and the busy atmosphere was pleasant enough. But, there was always a point on those nights that it all went dead quiet. Always the same time, down to the minute. The emcee stepped forward with a certain look and everything went still, all eyes on him, waiting in silent anticipation.  
_  
“Ladies and gentlemen...if you’re old-timers, you know why you’re here tonight. If you’re new, let me tell ya you’re in for a treat. I want you all to give a very special welcome to our next performers. At the keys we’ve got Heinrich Lunge, and singing is the always beautiful Eva Heinemann. Take it away, you two.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I wanted to make it so that the duo was Lunge with Grimmer as the vocalist but then it became more of a story about people wanting to really be understood, so I needed something a little more where the two are on a bit of a different "wavelength" and the idea of Suk as a singer is super cute, he'd be a star...
> 
> In case you were interested, the exchange was "You have a good voice" "You have good hands" and here we are one fic later


End file.
